


these violent delights

by kyrilu



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Multi, POV Experimental, References to Shakespeare, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will not be <i>Macbeth</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these violent delights

There is no one like Edward Meechum in _Macbeth._   No one is loyal to the Macbeths to the end, only a doomed hired army facing the victors, shrouded by branches and leaves. The thanes defect; there is no one left except a queen with her wrists pooling with blood, and a king with an inevitable prophecy.

This will not be _Macbeth_.

 

 

Or maybe it will be, in some ways: the Lady Macbeth of this story speaks of the murder of a child; she lays down plans of deception, and speaks them. When she cries at her own betrayal, she brings up wet, wet hands. She tries not to cut her hands on the shards of glass on her floor, and bleed.

Except that it’s Edward whose fingers are covered with red, and then he feels _his_ touch and _her_ mouth on his hands.

 

 

Shakespeare’s got nothing on Francis Underwood, who spin-doctors his soliloquies to the audience—he says, _Did you think I’ve forgotten you?—_ and shows a slow, satisfied smile. He says, _Do you want something, Meechum?_ , making everything in every way a suggestion. And Edward would’ve gotten on his knees, then.

It’s a magic trick. You ruin them, and you make them like it. The former President Walker knows this; Peter Russo knows this; Zoe Barnes knows this. They got what they think they wanted, right when they lost everything.

Magic. You can hear it in his voice when he sings to her. It’s a promise. Maybe this is their prophecy.

But if anyone’s learned anything from the witches, it’s that you shouldn’t trust magic.

 

 

Or maybe the prophecy is a dream of his. Maybe the story goes: once upon a time, there was a boy who decided that he would not be his father. Once upon a time, there was a boy who touched his best friend’s forehead while they were in their dormitory, and he had his revelation. Once upon a time, there was a man who fell in love with a woman who thinks like he thinks; who moves like he moves; who is ready to show the world who they are.

No matter the circumstances, there is the prophecy, king hereafter: _I will rise._  

(Macbeth wishes, out loud, that his dead will not rise – but they _do._ )

 

 

Or maybe, when it comes down to it, Edward is Banquo in this equation. Maybe. Sometimes the man you trust by your side will be your legacy’s downfall, and then he will be gone, gone, a bloodied body in the dirt, the prey of unknown murderers.

Ah. That sounds like Doug Stamper now, doesn’t it?

In any case, if Edward knew the analogy, he would hope that he isn’t Banquo. He likes the proximity this all gives him, whispering to Mr. Underwood that he’s won, he’s president, their bodies almost touching, and Mrs. Underwood smiling at them, a smile that is somehow both warm and cold at the same time.

 

 

Or maybe he’s their knight. When Edward looks over at Mrs. Underwood, sleeping, he understands why Adam Galloway took a picture of her like this. When Edward looks over at Mr. Underwood, he wonders why there isn’t a picture of this, either.

(Do you remember Underwood’s comment about President Walker, the leader of the free nation, reduced to wearily sleeping on a couch? This is what sleep gives you – well, when you still have it, at least. _Macbeth does murder sleep._ )

Edward thinks that he will protect them. He thinks, _bullet shield,_ and he smiles, and reaches for both of their hands.

 

 

Here’s a question: Does he know the depth of their sins? He’s by their sides, after all.

He does. He thinks that he does, at least. But he stays. He lets himself get drawn toward them.

For example: He thinks that it starts when Mr. Underwood comes back into the car after meeting Zoe Barnes. Mr. Underwood’s neck is halfway exposed, buttons undone. He sits down as if nothing has happened at all.

Edward tries not to stare at the curve of Mr. Underwood’s throat, pressed with a faint red discoloration. He doesn’t know why he looks. He’s never looked before; it’s not professional, that’s not his job. His hands tighten over the steering wheel.

Mr. Underwood catches his eye in the rearview mirror, his mouth an unfathomable line. He says, “Meechum,” in a soft drawl, just an acknowledgement, and then his hands find a way up to his neck, buttoning up his collar in a motion like a caress.

Another example: Mrs. Underwood brings him coffee when they return, greeting him with a bright smile. His shift’s ended, and she eases him into small talk – “Edward,” she calls him – one of her hands catching his shoulder lightly.

He feels himself relax. He returns her pleasantries. They’re leaning in close to each other, inches apart. It’s as if they’re breathing together.

 

 

He doesn’t know that it starts when Frank and Claire are twined in bed, breaths accelerated, touching as if they’re hungry for skin, for roughness. He doesn’t know that his name is hissed, somewhere in between: _Edward_ , _Edward_ because yes, they’re thinking of him, and yes, this is something they’ve always wanted and they _get_.

 

 

His duty is to look for the warning signs. Maybe this time, there will be no Great Birnam Hill and Dunsinane Wood. And, after all, Mr. Underwood always seems to be five steps ahead of anyone who might cross him.

Macbeth says, _I bear a charmed life which must not yield._ Macduff looks at him, with a shake of his head, and says, _Despair thy charm._

Because despite everything, there’s a hidden, silent feeling telling him that the day will come. He knows. Regimes fall. He will be there for the next, to protect the new order, because he’s a bodyguard, a knight, by nature.

There will be a day when he cannot have blood on his hands in Mrs. Underwood’s place. There will be a day when Mr. Underwood will fall, fall, fall, out of the reach of any protection he can offer.

But he stays anyway.

 

 

There’s that moment when he takes hold of Mr. Underwood’s wrist, and their eyes meet, and Edward thinks: _Please._

He’s thinks that he’s the one starting this all (but remember, that’s the magic trick) and Mrs. Underwood puts her lips to their hands. (As if they're breathing together.)

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

It’s still the beginning. It’s not over yet.


End file.
